Lights, Camera, Exposure
by Midori Aoi
Summary: There's something incredibly fascinating in fire. Its blaze, its brightness and its searing touch. Those who play with fire, always get burned. It's a rule. You can't escape it. But who says either of them wanted to escape it? After all, it's only just a game. Sherlock/Irene one-shot. May or may not continue. Depends on popular demand. Rated T for provocative content.


_A/N: This is my first piece for BBC's Sherlock. I must say, this show has enthralled me since its beginning and I find myself completely in love with it. It's positively incredible. Now, while most people prefer JohnLock, I found myself drawn evermore to Sherlene. It's dangerous, dark, fascinating and seductive. While I love John and Sherlock's relationship – I can only consider it a wonderful Broship. Anyway, since there is a shocking lack of Sherlock and Irene fanfiction, I've decided to add in my two-cents worth this romance that shook me to the core. Damn you, Moffat._

_So, enjoy this tribute of mine. I do not know if I'll continue with this idea, so consider it a one-shot for now unless the demand for more chapters explodes out of control. We'll have to see.  
My thanks also to Hans Zimmer's movie score of Inception – many of its tracks helped make this piece flourish. Reviews and Favorites are most welcome. :)_

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**Lights, Camera, Exposure**  
_by Midori Aoi_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or universe of Sherlock. It solely belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC.  
_

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A quick set of raps on the door of the room, alerted seductive eyes and a cold smile.

"Come in," She called, her voice was more than just inviting.

The door slid open, and a thick set of dark curls, brilliant blue eyes and a smirk revealed her guest. Their eyes met from across the room, and they locked in a battle of dominance. One that thrilled both of them to a degree neither would ever admit to, even to themselves.

The tension in the room was suffocating.

He was dead.

She was dead.

But right now at this moment, neither of them had ever felt so alive.

"I didn't expect you to show up so… quickly, Mr. Holmes." She spoke first, her voice like velvet and opium.

Sherlock's eyes flashed, but his face remained composed, appearing bored. A smirk pulled at her violet stained lips and he studied her. She was draped in see-through black and lace, save for a black strip that no one would call undergarments and dangerously high-heels, Irene was practically naked. It was her armor, and it had left him nearly completely unarmed. As expected, he could hardly get a read on her.

He had been caught unaware by her ambush the first time he laid eyes on her, but this time he was prepared. This time, he had a little trick up his sleeve.

"I honor my appointments," He replied, easily. Irene's eyes twinkled as she lifted a pale, slender leg up and over her knee, almost sensually. Sherlock remained stoic as ever, yet Irene caught how his eye followed the movement, as if entranced. One blink of his eyes, those eyes of ocean and steel, and he was staring at her again. Distant, cold and just a little bit… amused.

"How's death, Mr. Holmes?" Irene asked, grabbing at a black lock of hair that clung to her neck in the heat of the fire lit and very well furnished apartment. "I hope your… transition went smoothly."

A dark shadow flashed over Sherlock's face, turning those fascinating blue eyes almost black with emotions that ran so deep Irene couldn't distinguish them. But the shadow passed and Sherlock resumed their little chess match, raising a hand to the collar of his coat and thumbed the thick button through the slit. The coat loosened slightly, revealing pale skin and the hint of shadow that broke over collarbone.

This time it was Sherlock's turn to gaze as her throat tightened the moment the button let loose his secret weapon. A slight tremor rolled over her skin, and to his eyes he was pleased to see a row of goose pimples spread over her exposed thighs.

"It hurt like hell," He admitted with a smug smirk. He continued to unbutton his coat, slower this time – as if he were putting on a show for her. For anyone outside looking in, it would certainly look like he was just removing his coat. But between them the chess match had already started and this was him moving his knight.

Her eyes continued stare into his, yet would flick with a hungry glaze as he revealed the parted button-up shirt beneath the heavy wool and polyester. Sherlock looked unfazed, as if he were in the company of just a chair and a room, but the nudge of the corner of his lips told Irene that he was completely here in the moment.

"The first time always does," She replied, her lips curling into a seductive smile, teeth twinkling in the light of the fire.

"So," He began, tossing the coat over the head of a stool before sliding around a tall armchair and slowly sitting. Sherlock quickly ran a hand through his curls, knowing that simple movement would only entice Ms. Adler more. It was working. Irene had unconsciously curled a few of those slim and pale fingers over her thigh as soon as those locks bounced back over his forehead. "What is it you needed so urgently that you had to send your precious pets to hell to find me?"

Irene straightened and leaned forward, making sure the curves of her breasts could easily be seen through the sheer fabric. Sherlock glanced down once before meeting her gaze again, he didn't seem particularly interested if not for the slight shift of his foot.

"You, Mr. Holmes," Irene cooed. Sherlock raised a brow. "I need you."

Time seemed to stop for the two people in the dark well furnished room. Sherlock knew perfectly what she meant, even if she did make her words drip with the renewed promise of her abilities. _I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy. Twice. _

Sherlock's eyes flashed. _I have never begged for mercy in my life._

Irene cocked a sensual brow, gently turning her chin as if to challenge him. _Twice. _

"Try," Sherlock spoke finally, and a secret thrill made her eyes burn like wildfires, "…not to be boring."

Irene smirked before rising swiftly from her chair, moving languidly towards the low wood table set by the fire. Catlike, she sauntered toward a file and picked it up, her blood red nails caressing the wood before snatching the paper folder in the air. She turned and headed towards him, Sherlock having raised his hands to rest, as if in prayer, by his mouth.

"David Montreal," Irene began, business-like and professional. She passed him the file, standing far too close than necessary and making sure he could feel her stand by his legs. She looked down at him, expectant, and he took the file from her hand, never breaking eye contact until she moved away, but not before nudging his thigh with her knee.

"He took something of mine. I want it back."

"A client, I would guess."

"You never guess," Irene replied, stroking his ego. Sherlock could not hide the smile that pushed his lips back.

"I don't suppose it was a phone, right Irene?" He asked, pushing old buttons. Irene's lips pressed in amusement before she shook her head and sat back down on her chair, swinging her legs to rest on top of one of the arms and exposing the complete view of her hip, up the creamy expanse of her thighs, knees, legs and feet. A little surprise for when he looked back up from the file to her.

"As always, it isn't your business what he took. Just that I get it back."

"Doesn't make it easy for me, does it?"

"And when have you ever enjoyed 'easy'?" Irene chuckled, and felt the thrill rise again in her chest when he looked up at her comment and saw her position. He had paused for a moment, watching her as if fascinated. His eyes blinked and stared at her a second later, unfazed. It was almost enough for Irene. But she was not done yet.

"While I do enjoy a good puzzle, Irene, I am currently incredibly busy with a whole other matter." Sherlock quipped before shutting the folder with a snap.

"I'm sure you are," Irene said, hiding a smile. "Trying to decide how to perfectly melt the cheese in a sandwich without toasting the bread is an immense burden. Then again, I wouldn't know."

Sherlock's jaw snapped shut with a click before clearing his throat, annoyed and glum. Irene smiled at him as though he was a child and she stood back up again.

"Aw," Irene purred, lips pursing piteously, "Would you have preferred I kept that a secret? Did I spoil your fun? " She neared him again and he watched her with widening eyes. She stood between his legs before bowing slightly, letting her fingernails caress his knees and thighs. He glanced down at her hands, the file suddenly forgotten in his grasp.

Irene pushed his legs apart gently with her knees before sliding on top of him and sitting on his lap, straddling Sherlock Holmes. She placed her hands on his chest, seductively opening his parted shirt and letting those same nails softly rake at his skin.

"I can fix that." She whispered, towering above him and very aware of his controlled expression and racing heart-beat. He lifted his file-free hand to rest at the apex of her hip, thumb just on the crook of her pelvis and thigh, and her heart burst into a run as she struggled to hide the shiver his thumb caused as he pulled the fabric up ever-so subtly.

"You're going through quite some lengths to get me to accept," said Sherlock, his voice low and almost seductive. "What exactly did he take, Ms. Adler?"

"Will you take the job or not?" Irene asked, her voice betraying a hint of impatience and Sherlock's lips tightened, as if he was struggling to hold back an amused chuckle. Irene would have none of that and she continued her advancements by closing in the distance so her hands could reach his back and nape of his neck. The space between their faces shortened considerably and she was pleased to see Sherlock's eyelids flutter at the heat around and between them.

"One last question," He said, letting out a hiss as her nails reached lower and lower to his navel, and suddenly his hand was sliding up her side and Irene let out an involuntary moan so soft it was almost inaudible. Almost. Sherlock smiled again, smug, when she pressed herself slightly closer to him.

"Spit it out," She insisted, wanting very much to get past this part of the conversation and towards one with less words and more noise.

"How long do you plan on recording this?" Sherlock whispered, his breath tickling her lips. Irene froze then straightened, her eyes narrowed with annoyance but he could still see she was not let down. He knew. Of course, he knew.

"When?" She asked, watching him.

"When I took off my coat," Sherlock replied, evenly. His hand was still pressed to her side. "You were busy distracted, and it gave me enough time to give the room a quick sweep. I have to say, hiding the camera behind the curtain was bit elementary, even for you."

Irene sighed, before rising off from him, put out. But not put out enough to not notice the way his hand remained on her skin, sliding off as if reluctant to let her go. The thought alone was going to be enough for later, lonelier nights.

"Impressive as always, Mr. Holmes," Irene said, taking a step back to watch him stand from the chair but instantly closed the distance when he did, letting her hand rest over a sculpted pectoral.

"So you will?" She pressed, glad the heels gave her enough rise to be nearly face-to-face with him. His eyes, ocean and steel, burned with hidden excitement and what Irene knew was lust. Yet she also knew it was the lust for a new game, rather than her.

"I will consider it," He said finally, pressing the file against her chest. Then, he surprised her. He lifted a hand and let it slip under hers, pulling it away from his chest and lifting it to press a kiss over her knuckles. The action sent a jolt of electricity up her spine to pool at the base of her belly, and she suddenly forgot to breathe. His eyes never left hers. Letting his smooth – and very virginal – lips press a gently moist promise to her hand and Irene suddenly very much wanted to be the owner of those lips. She then wondered how those lips would feel all over her body. Pressed against hers and whether or not he liked to bite, or nip, or _taste_.

It was incredible how something so chaste could leave her nearly writhing with desire for this _man_.

Looking deep into his eyes, Irene could also tell very, _very_ well that suddenly that lust was not just for the game she gave him… She could see it in the way his eyes traced the edges of her lips when she parted them in surprise.

She gave him a little nudge then, feeling bold. Ever so gently, Irene let her tongue flicker out of her mouth to moisten her lips and Sherlock's grip on her hand tightened and his body pulled closer to hers, ever so slightly. His mouth slowly moved from her knuckles to rest above them, almost inviting.

There was a roar in Irene's ears, her heart picking up the pace as she could feel her breath hitch in her throat when she saw him lean towards her. Irene tilted her face, so he could meet her and suddenly there was nothing else that she wanted than to _take_ this man and make him _hers. _

There was a graze of his masculine breath on her readied lips and Irene almost pounced then and there before he brushed past her mouth and towards her ear. Irene's eyes widened as she felt his breath caress the nape of her neck, and froze while shivers ran up and down her back, skin and _soul_.

"Goodnight, Ms. Adler." He bade, huskily. It took all of Irene's self-control to keep from swinging him off his feet, slam him to the ground and ravish him until he was moaning so loud the whole world would know he was alive. So very much alive.

Then he turned and pressed a feather light kiss in the crook of her neck, and Irene nearly became undone if not for the smirk on his lips. _Oh, this simply will not do. _

As Sherlock began to pull away, Irene pressed her cheek against his, letting his movement cause a caress so delightful and sensual she could feel his hand begin to tremble under hers. The touch nearly made her burn and just by looking into his eyes she knew he was nearly on fire as well.

"I look forward to our next meeting, Mr. Holmes," Irene breathed, letting her lips slide over his without kissing him, teasing. Inviting. _Daring. _

Sherlock's sharp intake of breath pulled his hand away from hers and Irene stepped back, a picture of poise and elegance. With one final glance, Sherlock grasped his coat and glided towards the door and out. Irene let out a shuddered breath, her eyes wide. She could still smell him.

A grin spread over her lips and she turned in the direction of the curtains, smiling at the rolling camera before she moved and turned off the gadget. The red light snapping off to give way to the darkness, the heat, and a fire that didn't just sit in the fireplace, but threatened to consume them both without mercy.

Irene could feel the ache of their distance already, but knew that next time she would have him. And he will _beg_.

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_**TBC...?**_


End file.
